Faux Pas
by GeminiGemelo
Summary: His parents were dead. His brother, his girlfriend. All gone. It must have been for a reason… there must have been something left for him to finish. AU.


_**A/N:**_

_Alright, so here I am again with another one-shot. This is also one I'm writing for MLK, barely in time for the deadline as always (silly me... x.x). I finished first last time and am hoping for two in a row, so... yeah, keeping the fingers crossed here! *.*_

_Anyways, the prompt was actually "What if Zira had taken Kiara's paw?", and I suppose whoever came up with that wanted some sort of drama between a rescued Zira and her emotions and feelings and memories and vengeance relative to the rest of the pride and etc. Interesting and all, probably something I'd do on my own time..._

_But I'm contrarian, so this story's really about Kovu. _

_Now that I think about it, I'm pretty sure I've never written for the guy before. o.o So yeah, this is a first._

_Oh, and faux pas is false step in France. Just figured I'd tell ya. _

* * *

The normally deserted patch of dusty, brush-filled land above the border of the Pridelands, known colloquially as the Outlands, generally were not brimming when it came to inhabitants. They passed the days and nights quietly, roasting under the merciless heat of the sun and freezing under the stare of the moon without any stray complaint. Yet on this particular occasion, something was very different indeed.

A battle had been about to ensue. Two disparate forces had come to face each other under the rare bit of rain that had deigned to touch the land below. Vultures were beginning to circle overhead, hoping to profit from the victims even if neither side conclusively won. Surely there would be something—a snack, a morsel—for them at the end of this.

All had been muddy, the dirt collapsing into muck at the slightest hint of moisture. The Outlanders, with their narrow, darting eyes, had suspiciously watched the high and mighty Pridelanders become brown with the filth that had covered their legs. They were not free of it, of course, their scruffy and clumpy tufts of fur becoming even more dusty and dirty under the wet rainstorm and the cakes of sopping mud.

Yes, a battle had been about to ensue. A gritty, bloody, unpleasant one.

Until he and his soon-to-be-mate had intervened for the sake of their families. Now they were all on one side, with the exception of the two furry bodies which were tumbling off the precipitous and ominous ledge to their left. High, scoping rocks gave way to dangerous falls, and the normally dry canyon below had filled with a swirling vortex of water. A veritable whirlpool of death.

The dark prince stood uneasily on the edge of the rock, calling to his love, though he could do next to nothing.

"KIARA!"

Yet though he only cried out for one, his mind was torn between the welfare of them both: for down there, rolling and tumbling dangerously close to death, his mother and his lioness were together, if only because each was holding on and falling head-over-heels over the other in a vicious cycle.

His mother had performed many pernicious deeds in her time, and he stood on her side no longer. But it was still unnerving to see them both hurtling towards the river, especially since it was clear that her army was not with her anymore, and there was no chance of a battle happening at this point.

The vultures would have to leave and go elsewhere, for there would be no bloodshed tonight, and only those that were prepared to pick through the mud of the riverbed to find a meal would be fed… indeed, to the lionesses, the danger of the fall seemed imminent. And so it was that, from their view, the entire situation was even more dangerous than it appeared from the vantage point of the other lions.

The older lioness and the mother of the Outlander prince, Zira, had been abandoned by her own troops. She'd been given a chance to let it go, to acquiesce and join the new, unified body of lions, but she hadn't taken it. She'd been far too dogged, far too determined to do so. Never would she allow such a compromising breach of her dignity, or the dignity of her deceased mate. She couldn't betray herself, betray his memory… even if the rest of the crowd had. It was a shame, really, but it was just her luck. Her bad streak had started on the day of his death and had continued onwards from there. It seemed only natural that she would be the one to hit a rock and lose her hold on the other lioness… that she would go flying farther forward, closer and closer to the edge of the cliff that would surely lead to her death.

Kiara, on the other hand, was a sweet princess. Kind. Innocent. Beloved. She was too young to die—most of them would have agreed that, after all the good she'd done to help the two prides, she didn't deserve it. It was sheer dumb luck that she was able to skid to a halt, battered and bruised but otherwise unharmed, at the sheer edge of the cliff: a miracle which she would preferably not take for granted. The young lioness shook her ruffled, golden pelt, a bit surprised, before climbing to her feet.

She could have left right then and there. She could have gone back to her home, her family, and her friends, old and new. There was nothing stopping her—and indeed, she was about to do so. To leave and go back to her mother and father, letting them know that everything was alright after all, that their disagreements had turned out well in the end and there was really nothing for them to worry about anymore. She would have smiled in the arms of the king, who, as overprotective as he could be, only wanted the best for her. Her mate would be there, with his family, and everything would be as it should have been.

But all that was cut short as she heard the scream.

Zira.

The lioness hadn't intentionally cried for help. Indeed, the sound was little more than an inadvertent, strangled cry that was barely audible of the roaring of the rushing river. Kiara nonetheless responded, peeking over the edge of the rock face to see her adversary. Zira was hanging on to the sheer edge of the cliff, her life held by a tenuous thread as her claws desperately scrapped at the jagged drop-off. She'd fallen too far, and was lucky to even be holding on in the first place: however, she was quickly slipping and would doubtlessly succumb to the swirling water in a matter of moments if the princess did not bend down and help her enemy.

An average lioness would have run, yet after everything that had happened, Kiara felt strongly compelled to mercifully help her opponent up. Crawling as carefully as she could to the dangerous, precipitous drop below her, the princess extended her golden paw downwards towards the clutches of her adversary, hoping that Zira would defy the demands of her pride and reach towards it.

"Zira, give me your paw!"

"Rrrrrrraaah!"

Zira swiped at it, her burning red eyes practically glazed over with rage and stubbornness. She would not—no, _could _not grab hold. She would not forget the Pridelanders' crimes, and she would not forgive the sins, old and yet without any hope of atonement, that the princess's own father had committed. Doing so would be tantamount to taking the bloody, filthy, golden paw which had doubtlessly caused her mate's undoing, oh so long ago…

She gritted her teeth together, eyes burning like fire—an antithesis to the cold, crystal whitewater below her.

"_Zira… I'll help you…"_

The words were spoken in a manner which was softer and more subtle, the gentle susurrations of Kiara's voice barely causing her ears to prick. It wasn't forceful, and to a normal being hanging for life on the edge of a deathly, scoping cliff, it would have been very convincing and persuasive.

_Krrrrrrtchhht!_

The scrapping of her claws against the rock was a raspy sound, full of asperity, and it did, oddly enough, provoke a reaction of fear within the lioness. Yes, a reaction of fear in a lioness who was normally so bold, so brash, so unafraid… those were traits she had to have been, or else she never would have survived her long and unbearable years in exile, a battle of wills which involved raising her cubs and guiding her pride against a homeland which was as cruel, unforgiving, and barren as she was. They both were laid bare, left to suffer through the whim of fortune and the elements. Bad luck, bad weather… it was all the same. They'd both become desiccated, withered up and past their golden times of glory and hope and perpetual, amiable sunshine. Her home was the Outlands: it was a part of who she was.

What happened next was a mystery. Presumably it was an accident, though nobody knew for sure what exactly happened and what, precisely, the crazed lioness's motives were. Some said she had grabbed Kiara out of spite or fear; others said she was repentant and wanted a second chance. Most were caught somewhere in between, arguing that Kiara slipped or that it was some sort of mishap. But whatever the reason, the end result was the same.

Zira—or, at least, Zira's body and its sense of self-preservation, for her mind was still staunchly opposed to accepting help—grabbed the paw. For a moment her ragged, clawed appendage brushed against Kiara's, and the next second she was aware of found the princess clinging to her with a death grip. There was no letting go, her paw becoming hopelessly entangled as Kiara hollowed her back and tried her hardest to heave. Zira, in the meantime, was using all her strength either to help or to hinder her: no one could tell for sure, and in any case, her efforts at grabbing the princess's shoulders and digging her claws into her hide in an attempt to climb did not look very comfortable…

Finally a piece of the cliff broke from under Kiara's paw. It wasn't much, and under normal circumstances the small bits of crumbled dust and rock falling away would have never have fazed her. But alas, there was too much weight on that leg, and Zira was clutching on too hard. She suddenly lurched forwards, with nowhere to go and nothing to grab hold of. The only way she could go was down.

Zira remained in Kiara's grasp, and Kiara remained in Zira's. The two were holding onto each other, permanently bonded together as they fell towards death, the princess emitting a shriek of surprise as she was pulled by gravity towards her doom. All the other lions could do was watch in horror and helpless as the two lionesses, which had at one point served as mothers, leaders, daughters, cousins, mates, and friends to many of them plummeted through the course gravity aligned for them. And yet, through it all, Zira looked aloof. Whether she was merely hiding her fear or whether she had accepted her death was unknown. What was known, however, was the inevitability and irreversibleness of their deaths.

The only thing that would have given her suddenly satisfied and content outlook away was the soft, careless smile—such that never truly lit up her face anymore—given at the last moment of life before she would have to resign to her fate. No one saw it, and even she was barely aware of it. Yet she could not deny that she was happy: she had avenged her mate in at least one small way, even if all her other endeavors were universal failures. And no matter what happened, it was clear that she, Zira, would be able to see him again soon.

* * *

"_Kovu, _don't you turn your back on me!"

He heard the voice. He understood the words. He, however, did not respond to them, and he refused to turn around. Besides, what more was there to say? In what other way could he berate him? Hadn't they all been through enough?

"Kovu!"

He heard his name, but this time, its meaning escaped him. What was a 'Kovu'? He hoped it was better than his perceptions: for to him, Kovu was merely half a being, a shell covering a soul which had been cleaved in two. He knew that—and certainly, the stubborn Simba did as well, firsthand. Which led him to ask the question: how? How could the king be so angry at him when he himself was no doubt tormented with the same pain?

The dark lion, a former prince who was royalty no longer, hung his head in resignation, knowledgeable of their loss. Whether a prince for the Outlanders or the Pridelanders, it didn't matter: with Kiara gone, his title was gone. His chance to love and live a happy life was over, and now he was left with only the dregs of a hope which had once shone bright on him and a peevish, grief-stricken Simba.

In that one fateful moment he had lost the will to fight for everything, as he no longer possessed the ability to stand for anything. His mother, who had trained him from birth and insisted he further their pride's plans for her, had been plunged into the river, unable to be saved. It grieved him, even if he refused to admit it, that his mother should die so alone and without a chance at redemption. It was a part of his surprising gentleness, his affable nature which had never quite been purged from him despite all that he'd been through.

Kiara, however, was another story. She was the one who had seen him for who he truly was, had bothered to draw out the good in him. They'd been friends from the start, and even years later, he had fallen for her in a way which, despite his mother's plotting, was anything but a mere ploy.

And now she was gone.

Silence filled his pensive self. What to do now? Grieve? Or do something… else? How, exactly, should he feel?

He stopped, briefly thinking of how Zira, his mother, must have felt when his stepfather was taken away. At the time of the battle that was to happen, he'd gone against her, and defied her struggles to avenge her love… but now he had to admit that he related with her motives far better than he ever had when he'd been with her.

"… Yes, Simba?"

He mumbled, the suddenly dark timbre of his voice barely audible as he remained in place, pointedly refusing to turn around. A hard, stubborn part of him kept him glued to the floor, even as he could sense the golden lion's rising anger.

"What more could you say to me, Your Highness? Can't you see that_ I_ have to deal with your daughter's loss too?"

His interlocutor only scowled, seemingly irritated with his impudence, though Kovu had no real reason to be afraid. Not only was his physically bigger and stronger, but the most Simba ever seemed to use his power for was exiling subjects which displeased him. He knew so firsthand. Both times it had happened.

Alas, his relationship with what would have been his father-in-law had always been tense. He had the physical characteristics of his stepfather—Simba's uncle and predecessor, as well as a lion whom he still personally held a grudge against—and that negative association had seemingly trickled down to him. The king never trusted Kovu and, after begrudgingly accepting him into the pride years after his family's banishment, had only turned around to exile him a second time after an incident which was not his fault and was clearly lacking in evidence. Indeed, Kovu could tell that it had merely been Simba's attempt to assert his authority, to flex his claws and wield his power. He had come to expect that much from him: and if their relationship had started off that strained, it was only bound to get worse after Kiara had been taken away from them. He was surprised that he hadn't banished him already, although that was probably only because he wanted to preserve the faux aura of peace, an atmosphere which had since deteriorated and was a struggle for the group of disillusioned lions to maintain. Banishing Kovu may well have been the straw that broke the camel's back.

And so he kept him around, although truthfully, tempers flared often on both sides.

"_Silence! _I should have been more protective of her—can't you see what _your _family has done?"

Again he wondered: what should he do? Should he be the better of the two and accept that Kiara's father needed space, time to mourn and grieve? He'd already tried that. He wasn't the only one who had lost a part of them… Why should he bend his neck and accept it yet again? She was gone. What was there to do now? Why did this happen? He thought back to how excited he'd been to start a new life, the prospect of being in love and ascending to rule a beautiful kingdom with his soon-to-be mate. That would be no longer.

"They did _nothing_! We joined your side—do you think we wanted this to happen?"

It was true. His siblings, his pride brothers and sisters… they hadn't resisted. Convincing them to avoid a long-drawn-out battle and erase the years of division between them had been a surprisingly simple affair after all. It was his mother alone who had, whether directly or indirectly, caused the occurrence… and though he did not approve of her methods of revenge, looking back with distaste on his coerced childhood and seeing just how much he had been manipulated as her weapon of vengeance, he did now see the past for what it was with an unbiased eye. He'd come to realize that the Pridelanders weren't all soft, snobby, and ridiculously unfair—Kiara in particular was the exception. Yet in spite of that he saw, in some ways, where she had come from. While he would not think of shattering what Kiara stood for through blind, ruthless acts of reprisal, he now realized that that was not all that was at play, just as Zira's desire to avenge her mate was ultimately not her only motive. The fight to survive, the struggle to raise her cubs who had been unfairly exiled, the years of humiliation which had added insult to injury and rubbed salt in all their wounds… that was something he could understand. For even though he was not affected personally by the death of his stepfather, he did, in fact, grow up under the years of oppression in the Outlands. Years of exile which could have been easily prevented, but were instead encouraged by this very king.

Others of the Pridelands—the good ones, the sensible ones—had tried to talk sense into him. But Kovu had learned, early on, that Simba was the intransigent type.

"She is my daughter!" the larger male roared aggressively, red mane billowing in the wind. He talked in the present tense, clearly opposed to the idea of letting go… "and I should have known that something like this would happen!"

"Yeah, because you didn't _lock her up_ well enough, right? When will you learn? I _helped _her—more than you ever did, _Your Highness_."

He talked like he could have prevented it, but he didn't realize… sometimes things like this happened. It was for a reason. He'd lost family members as well: a brother, a stepfather, a mother. Simba was not the only one. Yet instead of turning his back on the world and running away, as the golden king once had, Kovu had tried to find the reason. The answer.

In the end he realized that it must not have been meant to be. Alas, that realization was probably the only thing keeping him from being worse off emotionally. And even if it wasn't true, he wanted so desperately to _believe _in it. Him being with Kiara _must _not have been planned, and so it had been denied of him. Surely that was the explanation. That life had ended, and the ship had sailed… which led him to other questions. Other thoughts on his life, his purpose, his… destiny.

What of it now?

He watched with contempt, contentions continuing strongly in his mind as the lion, now more short-tempered than ever, kept arguing. As to whatever inane argument he proffered, Kovu didn't remember—it didn't matter. It was all the same. _He _was right, and the others… well, they didn't know any better. Kovu would have laughed at his arrogance. Indeed, he understood more than ever their straits. The Pridelanders were not the enemy. Simba, in his own way, was… he was against the Outlanders due to his own silly prejudices, and he couldn't even look out for his daughter without restraining her.

He was doing good for no one.

What to do?

… What to _do_? How to remedy of it? He watched as Simba retreated off to the cave, his own personal sleeping quarters. It was his way of shunning him: Kovu, who was not royalty, could not enter without permission and had to sleep elsewhere. Not that that bothered Simba. He'd been fine with Kovu sleeping out in the cold before. This was his method of distancing himself from his younger counterpart, which both knew was probably beneficial.

Yet Kovu felt that he deserved a voice… and, moreover, that he deserved to be in there. He deserved to be royalty, to live as a king. After all he'd been through, after all the hard years of training and starving in a veritable desert, and after all he'd fought for… he deserved to lead his pride—and the Pridelanders as well.

His mother had always told him that he would be king one day. Whether through force or through marriage, that was bound to come true. Perhaps it was not to be with Kiara, but somewhere he could feel that he was meant to be a king.

He didn't have to divide the pride… he held no animosity towards the Pridelanders as a group and was confident he could lead them along with the kinship bond he felt with his own Outlands family. Yet he was beginning to understand his place… how his path related to that of his mother and stepfather, yet was unique and righteous in its own way. He could be king, he could unify the pride. He would be better than those that came before him. He would be the epitome of their struggle… the good thing that came out of their hard labor. The light at the end of the tunnel.

He was Kovu. The prince of the Outlands. The unifier of the prides. And suddenly he realized what he had to do.

He would not go on a trip of vengeance like his mother, nor would he abuse his usurped power like his father. But instead he would do what was necessary, inherit the throne which was meant for him and take his place among the pride. He would follow his own path, independent of others' choices for once in his life, and proceed to his own destiny.

The dark lion walked to the mouth of the cave slowly, reassuring himself. As far as he could see, it was a win-win. He would be a king, as was expected of him, yet he would hold the prides together peacefully as Kiara had wanted—the Outlanders would be ruled by one of their own again. Kiara would be reunited with her father, and his mother would not have died needlessly. It was one simple solution, one quick fix to a problem which had been plaguing them since the beginning. He unsheathed a single claw, knowing that his training. However much he'd deplored it, would prepare him for this moment. He crouched outside the entrance of the cave, flexing his claws…

And then Kovu smiled, a sudden grimace which showcased his bared fangs, as he prepared to execute the fateful job he had failed oh so long ago…

* * *

_Yeah, Kiara dies. They asked for a 'What if?', so of course I was gonna give 'em an AU twist. Because yeah, that just seems more interesting._

_I should also point out I did the ending quickly. Blame the deadline. x)_

_Until next time! (Unless you're a diehard Kiara fan with a grudge XD)_

_Twin :)_


End file.
